Lacrimosa
by The Flamel Cult
Summary: Edward's final decision causes an inferno of unsaid feelings to be forced out into the open. He may have made his choice, but is it the wrong one...? — Annie&Summer.


_- Annie - Summer -_

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_i: d e s p a i r_

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'_W-Why would I love **Ed**?_'

Winry's question froze Ed in place on the stairs, halting his descent to enjoy some of Molly's fabulous cooking (though his Mom's would always be best) on this odd "Christmas" holiday. A break from that weird school was definitely needed.

He just couldn't get a break, though, could he?

His appetite took a harsh fall and broke on contact. He turned halfway, staring into the sitting room, where he could see Al and Winry's profiles. He swallowed and took a moment to puzzle over the odd cramps forming in his stomach before he turned the rest of the way and climbed back up the stairs. Silently (for once) he shut the door behind him and crossed the empty room, passing Ron and Harry's beds and emotionlessly climbing onto his own, sitting with his back to the wall.

He was thoughtless, for the most part.

He felt a sort of... heavy sense of dread, as if his worst fear had been realized. He pressed his cheek to the wall, staring toward an empty wall as he thought over this. That made no sense whatsoever. He had realized his worst fear back when he was eleven. "Being alone" fit nicely, it seemed. A pathetic fear, but a real one nonetheless.

It took him an hour of sitting on that bed, ignoring calls through the door and small, gentle knocks on the locked entryway to realize what happened and how he felt about it.

As per usual, he stuffed the emotions away and stared blankly into his lap.

A seemingly random thought came to mind as he tried to distract himself. _Mrs. Hughes is a very wise lady..._ That was all, just one sentence.

_'Ed, it's okay to cry,_' she had told him once, during an emotional moment. _'It's better to, actually. Maes told me that once. I was trying to be strong._' Her warm, somewhat sad smile. '_He told me that it's just better to let it out. If you hold it up too long, your body gets stressed out, and you'll end up taking it out on someone else... and it's better to feel than to hurt others, isn't it?_'

He pressed his automail palm to his forehead, threading his fingers through his hair. That was the last thing he wanted to do - to hurt people.

He was going to cry, really he was. He had considered it and accepted it... but... then he realized that he had forgotten how to cry. A long, long time ago.

He sat there, thinking this over. _That doesn't make sense. __Crying is a natural reaction in the body. You can't forget how to do that!_ He rubbed his fingers over his furrowed eyebrows, openly letting his body relax and allowing any odd reactions to the world to take over. They just... wouldn't.

Ed fell onto his side, letting his eyelids slide shut. Maybe it would just come.

He sat there for as long as it took, thinking about the words he'd heard upon his descent down the stairs. He wasn't entirely sure why it made him feel so extremely awful... just that it did. Surely enough, it happened. Uncomfortable wet droplets formed on his eyelashes before slipping down his nose and onto the blankets. Next the shaking started, then the shortness of breath and soft, stifled sobbing.

He couldn't decide if it made him feel better... or worse.

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What was pain, actually?

The sense of having your limbs ripped off your body, the fact that you know that you can't save a little girl (that's how stupid you are, can't you see?) the fact that there was no one and will forever be no one to be along with you, to know that you don't deserve anything that you have and anyone that you want and it hurts -

Edward hadn't slept for a while. His whole night was spent flashing in and out of consciousness, bringing himself to the brink of waking up and then falling back into his exhaustion. It was as if those years of working his ass off and the sleepless nights were catching up to him and banging around in his consciousness.

_You killed your brother._

_You killed a little girl._

_You're not worth anything at all._

Some part of him always knew that. But it always hurt to hear it when it crept into his mind. It seemed as though this old, run-down house was the only thing keeping him from leaving. This place made him face his worst demons; they made him face things he buried deep inside and forgot to ever dig out. Edward didn't want to leave until he got rid of them...so he was probably planning to stay for a long time.

He wondered if he would go insane. It seemed as though everything here was just taking him down that old, sullen path...but Edward wasn't sure if he wanted to leave. It was so comfortable, here in his own darkness...

But his stomach growled, so he got up. His movements were almost robotic (which was ironic, due to the outer look of his automail) and he didn't have the heart to braid his hair; she had been the one who had given him the idea to have braided hair, all those years ago. Simply _seeing her face_ hurt like sharpshooting pain in his chest and made him choke. Edward put his hair in a low ponytail, loose and a new style. Oddly, it fit.

He walked down to the kitchen, footsteps light. Molly was there, among those decorations of red and green and gold. "Christmas." The time to spend with family, was it not? Edward was unsure about going further, just wanting to let himself starve, but Molly caught sight of him.

"Edward, dear!" she said jovially. "Here, come - sit. Ginny and Ron are at the table already, the others should be coming down soon...oh dear, you look..." Molly paused, as if she didn't want to insult him. "...tired."

"Yeah, I didn't get much sleep," he admitted. "I'll be fine. It's just a restless night. A lot of things were on my mind."

"Well, if you're sure," Molly said, uncertain. "Go ahead and sit at the table."

Indeed, Ginny and Ron were there, talking animatedly about something that had to do with the words "speed," "broomstick," and "Quidditch." Edward quickly tuned them out and leaned back, allowing his bangs to fall in front of his eyes (which had dark circles, he was sure of it). Neither commented on his sudden presence, for which he was grateful. Then Fred and George came in, their chatter loud and laughter amicable. Harry soon after. Then...it was Al and Winry.

_'Why would I love Ed?_'

The words were still a knife to the heart. Why would she love him? Him, the stupid, rash, incorrigible boy who can only ruin lives, ruin things? She was right - why would she love him? She would've fallen in love with someone like Al, sweet and kind to her, to everyone. And Al...technically, did him being here bring Al pain? Before, he was just selfish - he just wanted his little brother by his side.

_If I fear one thing, it's being alone._

Edward realized this. His understood what he wanted the most - _I don't want to be alone. _Yet, as he sat at this table filled with people, he had never felt more alone in his life. Was he that selfish? Did he still really want all of that? Why couldn't he just let it go, for god's sake? There was something rising in his throat, bile and water that choked and burned like fire.

"Morning, Brother!" said Al cheerfully, greeting him in the usual polite way. Edward's fist tightened under the table, but he nodded stiffly in return. Al didn't notice his fist, but Edward's lack of 'good morning' was very clear. Alphonse took a second of surprise to recognize it before he sat.

"Morning, Ed." Winry sounded slightly sleep-logged, yawning, but Edward was void at her words. He remembered that same voice - _why would I love Ed? _- and he couldn't think about anything more. She didn't even seem to notice. For once, Edward wondered if he was really the oblivious one to things. Winry was blushing for some reason, looking at him...but he was pretty sure that he couldn't find it in him to care.

He was doing a lot of thinking these days. (Or, perhaps night. It had only taken one to understand everything and get everything together.)

When food wasn't even served yet, Edward coughed. "Al, Winry, I need to tell you something." his voice was deeper than normal, with a new, weary baritone in it that was only present in people like war veterans. The two blondes immediately came to attention, and Edward met his little brother's eyes, looking down suddenly.

"When we go back to Amestris," said Ed hoarsely, coughing. "I want you and her to stay in Resembool. Okay?" Before either could ask why, interrupt, or protest, Edward continued, delivering the final blow. "I've already sent a letter to Mustang. I'll be employed in the next draft against the war with Drachma back home. A promotion to Brigadier General is waiting for me."

Winry stood up, tears forming into her outraged eyes. "_What? _You're going to war and you tell us this _just now?_" The strength of her voice and how her lip trembled brought the attention of many of the others at the table. Edward looked at them through his peripheral vision, but didn't stop them from looking.

"It's my life," he started, but Winry interrupted.

"And you're going to _waste _it!" she huffed. "What the _hell _were you _thinking _- "

"I was _thinking_ that I would do something _good _for once in my life!" he hissed, standing up just as at quickly, near her face and and narrowing his eyes. Winry wanted to step back a little - Edward was a good head taller than her, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles; it made the glare look more threatening than it really was. "So why do _you _care?"

There was a moment of silence, and you could hear a raindrop fall. Then another. And another. Outside, a pattering of rain hit hard against the windowsills, against the hearts of the occupants. Winry didn't know why she cared. Maybe because she was his friend...? Why -what was she supposed to do?

Edward stepped away from her and looked at Molly, who was standing shocked at the doorway. He nodded to her once. "I'm sorry for causing a disturbance. I won't be eating today."

He looked toward Al. "I'm sorry, little brother," he whispered, but Alphonse looked up at him and nodded; he would talk to Ed later if needed. Edward would always open up to him. But for some reason, this time he wasn't so sure...

Walking past Winry almost as if she wasn't there, he made it to the doorway with all intentions of going up and not coming down until he was hungry once again. But then he tensed in the doorway, freezing for a second. Then Edward turned around to look at them all with a hard light in his eyes. In that moment...Edward seemed much more than an awkward, hot-headed teenager.

"I'll be gone in five days," he said, aiming it to no one but his childhood acquaintance and Alphonse. "The letter to Mustang has already been sent and approved." There was a pause. "I won't be coming back."

Then he wasn't in her line of sight anymore.

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His mind, god, his mind.

So many questions. He wasn't sure if he liked this or not, how many questions there were floating around in that seemingly infinite space. So many questions, and little to no answers.

Alphonse, Winry. They would be better off without him, so much better off without his negativity and constant arguing. The high-maintenance of his auto-mail.

Right, he'd have to find a new mechanic.

That'd be a bitch; Winry was, after all, the best.

The best for him, anyway. There probably were more auto-mail technicians out there. Probably better ones, too. Granted, they wouldn't necessarily care for anything more than his money...

Edward raised a hand to rub at his forehead, letting his other arm drape over his knee.

That was a horrible move, really, doing something as impulsive as that. Having the time to sit here and actually think about it, look back on it in retrospect, that was a really stupid move.

He was fucked. Up the ass. With a cocked gun. As horrible as those three, choppy sentences sounded, it was damn true.

The real question, always the more important question... what about Al and Winry? They were the farthest from fucked. Al had a body - a human body, the only thing that actually gave him pride now-a-days. He had his prowess with alchemy and his fighting skills, and his military degree, kind of. He wasn't really all that proud of that...

What did he have to thank for that, really? One night, one night that set his life into a rolling motion of never-ending fuckery and damnation. One night that pretty much obliterated his chance to be normal.

That's all he ever wanted, really: to be normal. To grow up and marry Winry -

Ed rubbed at his forehead again, dropping his arm and flopping back on his bed. It was best not to think about that, actually. What with the... circumstances.

Right. Winry didn't love him. Why would she? She has Al. The only reason anyone would ever actually consider liking him was his admittedly pretty face, maybe the set of abs he'd been sporting since he was around thirteen. Even in the matter of attractiveness he wasn't very well off, what with all of his scars and the hunk of metal hanging off of his right shoulder.

Beautifully, skillfully crafted hunk of metal.

A grotesque prosthetic nonetheless.

Ed pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the canopy over his bed. He was being self-loathing again. Always self-loathing, beating himself down. It was, of course, the only reason he was so very good at insulting people and making people angry. He was always beating himself down. He had perfected negativity down to an art.

He was fucked. Very thoroughly. He had possibly just screwed up his entire world with all of two, three sentences.

What did it matter, though, if Winry and Al were together? Happily married with two kids, Den, and the house in Resembool.

The question remained, though, of life, the universe, and everything.

"Forty-two," Ed mumbled, eyebrows dropping before he shook his head.

The real question, though. Was he deciding their future for them, or honing his psychic powers?

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_It doesn't matter, _he thought bitterly. _What's done is done._

He fucked up more than he thought possible. But this was the best way to go, he figured. The war with Drachma—well, he was going to get routed anyway, right? Why not make it go faster and get the damn deed done? It would be better for all of them. He was the reason they were currently taking up breathing space in Grimmauld Place, after all.

Edward moved his automail slightly. _Cut off all ties, _Mustang had once advised him, the one moment where he wasn't acting like a bastard. It was a lonesome night and Edward was hit with phantom pains, the aftermath of the riots that had taken place the week before. Mustang was giving him tips about war, because they both knew that one was over the horizon. _Don't leave any feelings behind. It'll just hurt more in war. _He had a weary face when he said that, Ed recalled. Maybe because he's been through all this shit before.

_Let it all go._

He was going to let it all go, because Edward knows that he might not come back at all.

It was a rash decision, based off on the simple fact that what Winry said hurt more than it should have. He had long ago admitted it to himself—subconsciously, mostly—and he kept it to himself. Good thing he did. If he had brought the subject up, it just might've cut off their friendship for good. She didn't love him, after all.

In usual terms, he could live with that. After all, he loved her not just as Winry, but as a best friend as well. Even if she didn't accept his feelings, being friends would've been fine. All his memories, his childhood, were filled with her and Alphonse—it was hard to just forget all those memories for one misplaced emotion.

But the way she said it...the tone of disgust in her voice...perhaps all those times he had ignored her, all the times he had waved away her feelings, she had finally had enough. It made sense enough that she stuck around because she cared about the automail, and slowly her feelings for him dwindled until they were just childhood friends. Old acquaintances.

Edward felt a large, gaping hole where his heart was. He grimaced. At least when he got killed in the front lines, he would already be dead.

_Why would I...love Ed?..._

"Brother?" a soft voice called him from behind. "What was that all about?"

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"What was what about?" Ed huffed back, reclining on the pillows as casually as possibly.

Al gave him a sort of pissed of 'Brother-you-know-exactly-what-I'm-talking-about-don't-act-like-you-don't-asshole' face.

The older Elric almost chuckled, but held a stoic face.

"Brother."

One word conveyed so much.

"It's nothing, I'm just... It's nothing, Al, drop it."

"It's not nothing," Al told him, almost demanded. "You just told us that you signed up to willingly go face-first into a bullet and you're saying that it's nothing?"

"Hey, I've lived this long," Ed replied, "someone has to do it-"

"You've done enough!" Al shouted, voice dropping to a growl and hands balled at his sides. "Do you think that you're doing this for our sake, Ed? We just got everything back! I just got you back! Those six years, you were... you were _possessed_! You had a one-track mind, and that mind went to where we are now, and now you don't know what to do so you're throwing yourself back into the line of fire! All those six years, I only wanted what you wanted. I wanted my body back, but I wanted you back too Brother! I wanted what you wanted then, but now I want _what I want_!" The younger brother shouted, demanded, yelled, screamed. Ed was too taken aback to act all emotionless and douche-y, he was... he was just... shocked.

"And you know what I want? I want you to stop being such an _ass_ and just come home and sit down at the table with your family, and I want you to be _happy_!"

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_I want you to be happy!_

Edward felt his heart drop into his stomach. Great, now he was hurting his little brother too, if the tears prickling the corner of Alphonse's eyes were any consolation. (It wasn't.) The younger Elric clutched his hands tightly, fingers digging into his palms, his face slightly red while he let out huffs of angry breath.

The other blond didn't say anything for a long while. In fact, Edward didn't seem like he would say anything at all, and Alphonse contemplated on leaving. But then a small, tired and broken, "Sorry," emitted from him, and Al's head snapped up.

"Brother..." he started, eyes lighting up at the fact that Ed might just start to understand and he would take back his summon to Central, might just resign from the military and come home and Alphonse could work to start a family between those two.

"I'm sorry, Al, for making you feel that way," he said hoarsely, and Alphonse felt the blood drain from his face. _No._ "I'm sorry that I was never the best big brother. I'm sorry that I never took consideration of your feelings back then..." he looked at Al, but his eyes were glazed over. His lips quirked in a smile. "I'm sorry that I'm such an ass, that I can never be like you or mom. And I'm sorry for everything."

"Ed, no..." Al started feebly, his knees going weak.

"But this is something I..." he trailed off, lost for a moment, before continuing. "This is something I _have _to do. Al, you might not understand it—and hey, you're the person that understands me the_ most_—but I can't just let this go. I..." he sounded oddly choked, emotionless. Alphonse felt something in his heart break. "I'm not really worth anything more than a pawn for the military. I mean, look! Where can you go with alchemy? Not very far. Maybe you can be a teacher, or a craftsman, but at most...it's as useful as a handyman, and that's it. Alchemy takes up your _life, _Al. Alchemy is my life."

"And I...I'm going to do something with my life." Edward gave his brother a defeated, tired look that made him look much, much more older than he was. Alphonse felt a tear leak from the corner of his eye. "Al, I'm going to war because I'm doing this for me." Unknown to Alphonse, poisonous thoughts ran through Ed's head: _because I'm not wanted here, because I don't belong, because I still need to live, need to live, need to get out of here..._

"Please, let it go."

_Let it go._

"I can't just let it go," Alphonse whispered to himself, too low for Edward to hear. He turned around sharply and said, "Fine. Go." And then walked out the door, knowing that he had just hurt his brother more than what was called for. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Alphonse slid down the door's flat surface and buried his head in his palms.

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_A/N: Yo, Laura here~ I was browsing our old forum posts and found the beginnings of this from way back in May. And then I demanded Summer and Annie write more of it xD This is just part one (mostly 'cause Annie had to go before they finished xD) but I'll be sure to make them write part two as soon as possible!_

_(Along with, you know, all those other stories I want them to update.)_

_So, yes, we're still alive! A Maya even appeared on the forum the other day; we almost didn't know what to do :o We yelled at her a bit about writing PG16 (if you guys even remember what that is, lol) so hopefully we'll be able to whoop our collective ass into gear and get all those unfinished stories (read: this one, PG, and Diamond Eyes) finished. Thank you so much for being patient :)_

_Lots of love,_

_Laura (and Summer and Annie and Maya)  
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